Reject

  *************

  A distraught Peddle erupted from the adjoining office. "How the devil am I expected to work in that?". He flapped an angry hand at the partition wall through which a mechanical clattering competed with a Celtic bellow. "He's been on that blasted phone ever since he came in - you could hear him in the other factory without it if he leaned out of the window, and as for the other comic, I'd buy him a new sewing machine out of my own pocket if he'd only go somewhere else to play with it."

  "He has a lot of totting up to do."

  "Maybe he does, but have you ever taken a look at that contraption of his? I've never seen anything like it. It's so unreliable that he has to do everything three times over and take the average. I haven't summoned up the courage to ask him how he works that out."

  "Well, why don't you borrow the dictaphone from Upstairs, record them and play it back when they've both got a hangover?"

  "I'd have to wait a long time, wouldn't I. One of them's Chapel and strictly T.T. and the other's not allowed it because of his ulcer, which" he added vindictively "he probably got through using that infernal machine. How's Pete making out?" He recalled the excuse for his escape from the office.

  George's eyes narrowed at the reminder of his usurped position. "Had a couple of false starts already. I'm not sure if it's his fault or junk left in the lines from that ridiculous performance on Saturday. Anyway, bang goes his scrap allowance for the week and it's only" consulting his watch "twenty past nine on Monday morning!"

  "We can book it off against Folklore's budget, as usual, but you'd better go over and check it out before he has another try. That'll be after teabreak now, I suppose?"

  George nodded. "Let me know if you have any more trouble". Peddle sighed and returned to his own private form of suffering while George set off happily in the direction of the Plant. He was equally responsible to both Peddle and Pike, calling forth his oft repeated aphorism that "I am Peed on from a great height and from opposite directions and they won't even allow me an umbrella". (A reference to protracted negotiations between Union and Management which had taken place during the first winter on the new site. The disadvantage of locating the canteen four hundred yards from the main production area did not become fully apparent until the weather broke and George applied for protective clothing for his men. The eventual edict to emerge was "Umbrellas for Managers and plastic macs for the Men." He had never forgiven them for it.)

  He was the worst Plant operator they had ever had. Periodically, the Management would promote him, insisting that he hand over the running to Pete so that he could concentrate on the administrative side of things. In practice, there was little to do and as he hated paperwork anyway he would while away his time driving the chemists mad until neither they nor he could stand it any longer and he would return, pull rank on Pete and take over. He would then be very happy in the knowledge that nobody could get results like he could. Pete would likewise be happy because he was frightened by the responsibility and glad to be rid of it and only Pike would be left, tearing his hair at the ever growing anomaly in the salary scales.

  Already, this morning, he had hidden the cushion. The operator's seat was a metal plate, welded to the conveyor sidewall and kept unhealthily cold by the draught of the Fans. He would watch, silently gloating in anticipation that Pete would get piles, but Pete, once bitten wore two pairs of underpants and smiled inwardly whenever he caught the gleam in George's superintendent eye.

  The chemists, sensing his departure, drifted thankfully back to the unfinished crossword and the pleasant prospect of teabreak.

  Peddle poked his head round the door "Pike wants your experimental stuff off the conveyor before tea. Will you go over straight away and sort it out with the storeman. And he is still not speaking to you!" he added with a twinkle of amusement.

  "It's not my fault if the engineers changed all the dials round and buggered up the run!"

  "Maybe not, but you were rather rude about it."

  "He'll get over it." Dave lifted the telephone which chose that moment to ring. "Yes, yes. I'll get on to it straight away. Thank you."

  "Good man, Good man!" the voice was audible to the whole office before it clicked off. "Folklore. Same message as yours!"

  Peddle laughed and withdrew, seconds before Grey replaced him in the doorway "Pike would like your samples off the conveyor as soon as possible - and are there any test results yet?"

  "No. Four letter word, 'Bargain with a pair of scissors'. I've already had the message from Pike, Peddle and Folklore, thanks."

  "Snip. He really does get me down at times!" Grey retired to his office down the corridor and took the internal telephone off the hook before burying his nose in the 'Plastics & Rubber Weekly'.

  The chemist's phone rang again. Folklore's secretary wanted to know if Grey was there and could they give him a message to go up to his office immediately (she couldn't get through on his extension). Dave gleefully phoned Dik who was studying the classified section of 'Autocar'. He chuckled and passed the message to Grey who swore loudly, screwed the P & R Weekly into a tight ball and hurled it at him before stamping from the office, passing the open chemist's doorway in a cloud of invective on his way Upstairs. "I hope he's got a visitor coming, or a meeting or something, otherwise it's going to be one of Those mornings" remarked Mike.

  "5 down is 'irritate'."

  "How appropriate."

  It was the 'phone again. As Dave wearily lifted the handset, Little Mike entered the office nose-high behind a pile of samples.

  "Yes, yes, Mr Folklore. Everything's under control. We haven't stopped, you know. I'll bring up a sample" his hand covered the mouthpiece "for you to maul with your fat, pudgy, pink little fingers." Folklore 'Good Manned' and hung up as Grey followed in behind Little Mike who was in the act of handing Dave a pile of test report forms.

  "Here's the results from Saturday's run. I've taken off the samples and the rest of it is in the holding stores."

  "You didn't have time to sweep out the Pilot Plant while you were at, I suppose?"

  "Ernie's got the broom!"

  "These are the experimental samples?" Grey was in amongst them already.

  "Can't stop! I've got a pile of samples to test for you which I ran off on Friday".Little Mike turned in a haze of enthusiasm and was gone.

  "Why can't I have a normal, apathetic, idle assistant like anybody else?" complained Dave as Grey took the test forms from his hand. "Do you know that he's so keen that he complains if I don't give him anything to do on Friday afternoons. He's got so much bloody energy that he goes on to make another half dozen mixes even when I've asked him to stop. It's not fair!"

  "Saved you from getting off your arse this morning, though, didn't he" observed Pat from beneath his newspaper.

  "Go back to your hangover!"

  "Quite good results. I'll take them up, shall I. Mustn't keep Sir waiting." Grey scooped up half a dozen samples and departed before anybody could find words to hurl after him.

  "Creep!" shouted Mike after him. "I wouldn't mind, but we haven't even seen them ourselves."

  "It's no good" said Dave gloomily "I've got to get out of this place while I still have a vestige of sanity left. I am going to see if there is anything in the P & R Weekly - if anybody wants me, you don't know where I am."

  He departed in the direction of Grey's office. Mike picked up the crossword. Terry took his phone off the hook before settling deeper into his chair, the newspaper still in place.

  "Tea in ten minutes" remarked Mike. "What do you make of 17 across?"

  There will never be another day like today. This is the supreme moment - from here on it is all down hill!"

  R.W.H.B 1969